


Knights and Maers

by TheAppleOfEvesEye



Category: RPF - Fandom, Thomas Sanders, youtube - Fandom
Genre: AU, But I want to use the characters I already know as a way to practice writing., Castles, Dark Magic, Different species, Drug Use, Gen, I don't know if I'll finish this tbh, I'm sorry I just want to see this fandom in a world like this, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's kinda a real story, Kindoms, Knights - Freeform, Lords, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Swords, This may be a very long story, Thomas is going to show up don't worry, kingdom au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAppleOfEvesEye/pseuds/TheAppleOfEvesEye
Summary: In a world of Knights and Lords, beyond the forest trees lies a darkness with the ability to inhabit human form; The maer.Roman is a Prince, Logan and Patton are lords, and Virgil is...well their only hope.





	1. Lord Patton and Bricketten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JohnEgbertPretendingToBeDaveStrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnEgbertPretendingToBeDaveStrider/gifts).



 - 

Shrubs were difficult to keep from peeking out the Northern most walls' cracks. Poisons of all types seemed feeble against these persistent coiling weeds, stretching and feeling their way through the king’s stone. Though Youth often found mindless joy in tracing out pictures in the cracks, sliding pudged fingers down and around in polygonal swirls, one would find feathered fissure spreading from where his favorite knight was constellated. This gap, carved by the vines of the Youlteer forest, would be large subject of debate amongst the soldiers who guarded the Northern wall, as well as the hand maidens of the Bricketten Fort less than a day away. Had The Great T'Om'A known his impermeable wall would be crumbled by vines and twigs, he’d have scorched the woods outside it, centuries ago.  That, perhaps, would have spared his kingdom the fate to befall it in the next winter; The collapse of the Sandre Towers.  

The Dolcer, owners of the Bricketten Fort, were a house most notable for being the founders of the Pathol Herb. Once made to remedy the aches of loss and soothe the pains of heartbreak, many now saw Pathol as a drug stolen from the Youlteer Maers, the mystic demons of the Forrest. This did little to sway the reach of the family’s power. They still built along the entire north of Sandre, hanging banners on all their men could settle and Bricketten fort still sat on a high hill overseeing the wall and town square. Winds and rains attacked the coble stone and as they did very little to chip at its wall’s face, neither could any man ever hope to tear it down. Vines, however, vines crawled and slithered along its edge, wrapping long fingers round the fixture as if nature had its grip on all man’s creations, big or small. The Green and white form was what stood as the pillar, most eyes slid to the moment they entered Bricketten. Not so much the flag that hung along it. 

Logan, draped in black and cerulean attire, adjusted his sleeves and when he caught sight of the structure, grimaced deeply. The so called Happy Valley, reeked of the town’s highest commodity, Pathol. It ruminated like perfume through every pathway, and every alley. His face scrunched paling is nose and stretching his features. A rare expression here it seemed, because every person in the near vicinity seemed to give him tense looks. He was obviously, and outsider. A robust man spotted his unease and tentatively ambled his direction. Logan noted his suppressed smile, ruddy cheeks, and the way his brows seemed to leap comically from his eyes every time he caught Logan’s. He must have been a well-known man, with how every third person seemed to greet him on his way over. _Of course in a place like this_ , Logan thought, _It might just be the custom for all people._ This made him snort at the moment the man reached him, who in tern dusted his fingers off on his clothes.  

“Pardon my appearance, Sir. Logan. We weren’t entirely sure when you’d be making it. People often tend to make a left at Pyre Creek, but here we are at the right. Haha” The man laughed, thoughtlessly stroking the short beard he wore. _How strange_ , Logan thought, _to plan for the failing of others rather than the success, so ineffective._   

“But, to be fair, I’d probably not look every different myself” He shifted where he faced and gestured that Logan follow, peering expectantly over his shoulder in wait. Logan looked the man over quickly, at his pale cream trousers, and pale blue cloak, and nodded before stepping to his side. He fanned ahead of himself, suggesting the man lead the way.  

They walked in what Logan would have preferred to be silence, but was instead an exchange of questions and single word answers. The man named himself to be Ken of the house Guinne. Logan stilled for a moment, House Guinne held a substantial fortune and owned Castle KaJa off the Southern Bay. Few but the Lords handpicked by King Sandre could afford even lodging in the Maypel Sea. _To have a castle there_ , Logan boggled. He picked up his step quickly enough to avoid the potential concern this Ken was sure to exude. Yet, now he felt as though he had little to no bearing on the mentality of those who chose to reside here. For the first time he was at a loss.  

“ No need to feel nervous, Sir Logan. Our provincial Lord Patton is a kindly man. He would take no qualms with you, Regardless of your sour expression.” Guinne assured, seemingly feeling Logan’s apprehension.  

It dawned on Logan that he hadn’t stopped scrunching his face against the town’s sweet odor. He relaxed his features as best he could, hoping it was passable. Couldn’t let his own partialities ruin this meeting on behalf of the prince, now could he. Such a display is against the image of the Logos region. His sleeves were adjusted again, and Logan spared Guinne a parting look as they neared House Dolcer’s North Manor. They both nodded and parted ways, Guinne offering a Mirthful laugh, and waving his way back to the Town center. Logan, however, paled at the etched stone mural on the manor’s gate, it was painted on with vibrant colors by what seems to be the town’s children.  So taken aback by the sight, he nearly reached out to feel it it were real. With his nails barely reaching the paint's edge, he heard a loud clank. 

The defaced gate opened slowly, and thirty paces off, Logan could see the bronze haired lord being chased by a horde of children, yelping happily as he dodged their attempts at him.  

“What have I agreed to?” Logan contemplated, incensed.   


	2. Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream, a Prince and a nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are here for solely shipping, Roman and Virge Meet. And that's about it. The rest is WORLD BUILDING!
> 
> Also sorry this took so long for all...17 of you reading this.
> 
> ***EDIT****  
> Yeah so I'm reworking this chapter. I rushed it to make and it kinds got muddled so I'm splitting it up a bit.

People never paid much mind to the _stories_ told about the Youlteer forest. It was said to have the underbelly of the JaPaulle Hells, filled to the brim with Demons and witches and creatures of all kinds. Said to be the gate way to utter doom. It was an odd thing to think about a place no one seems to have gone into since Roman’s father, the king, re-sealed the wall. Even most stories came from the post T’Om’a days, right after the gates were sealed the very first time, centuries ago. There were no new stories circulated after the first broach of the walls in Logos, none were allowed to be said. Nothing that confirmed the difference between lore and history. The Youlteer were a damned people, if they were even called that, allowed to be seen as _people._

It took none by surprise that the young prince would be raised on the songs and stories of his father’s victories in battle. He trounced around in grass stained trousers and swung long branches in mock battle, slaying invisible beasts and claiming victory on the entire room of play dead soldiers. Then he would run into the arms of his mother, who was so alive back then, and gleam at his father. It was so rare to have seen the man’s eyes melt from their fixed and frozen stare, so rare to see them soft with pride. IT made sense that all the boy wanted to be was a strong warrior like his father. Or so Roman thought.

In the days after the the Dalloways siege to claim the throne had begun, his mother had passed away at the hands of the Youlti while His older brother was whisked off to safety. And he prince roman, slayer of all pretend beasts of the Youlteer forest, lay still and stiff under her broken bleeding body. Only later to be found by his father ridged with grief and ice in his eyes. The Invaders were hung, every day a different batch until all those that failed to flee from Eros were slain, even those that Roman knew. Men, women, children alike.

Afterwards Roman only busied himself with saving princesses. Fending of monsters or saving people from those who wish to harm the defenseless. Dragons, Demons, and _Kings_ alike. He wanted a fairy tale ending. It was only in his dreams where he could find solace, find people worth saving, and gratitude in their eyes rather than fear: Earned, violent, and potent fear. So if from time to time, Roman’s mind was left wondering through his dreams during political meetings, none could blame him. None but his father. If Roman wanted to save anyone, then he should at least be able to defend himself. He was given a sword, an arena, and a towering ruthless soldier, to train him. In Roman’s mind he was fighting Ogres and Giants. Only monsters keep hitting a boy once his bones are broken.

Roman became a very good fighter _then_.  

 

At the later dealings of the kingdom, political or legislative, Roman merely regurgitated sayings from his father to offer his people or advisors. There was little interest in Roman being anything other than a miniature version of the man, so his more original ideas were kept in a journal by hid bed side table. There was no place for it here, in the capitol. Roman was to bury himself in history of tactical assaults, and royal law if he was ever thought to plug the hole his father would leave the crown. There was scarce an unobserved moment for a prince, and any enemy could catch his hesitance and choose the time to strike, or so his father would tell him. It was what _he_ would do.

 

Roman was a man now, meant to take on the throne, and produce an heir. The shame was that Roman had no interest in Having an heir or a wife. Romance was a beautiful nightmare to behold, but despite his unyielding obsession over it, he hadn’t truly felt it for another person before. He wondered how it would feel. Would it be wild and wonderful like he had seen in paintings or mournful and treacherous as he had read in poems. He hoped it would warm is heart as it did his father’s. _The kinds of people that fell in love_ , his father’s voice reminded him _, were those seeking a weakness. Losing the one you love is worse than losing your life._  

The council meeting for the week ended and Roman found him self at a loss of what to do with his day. There were hardly any hours left before sunset, so it could be pleasant to walk along the canal edges, he thought. The trek there took what was left o the boy’s sunlight and bathed the night in darkness. The full moon glowered shining against glittering reflective rocks in the canal bank. It lit the entire place in small, shines and flashes. Roman wandered along the path for a long while before he heard his name being called. Tanner dosed off after the mention of irrigation. If even his own guard had fallen asleep at the council meeting, how as he expected to stay awake with the way that the Logos people spoke. IT would take all day for them to change tones if not change subject. It never changed his punishment. Roman ignored the call. _If he didn’t want to be punished by the king, he should have stayed awake._ He raced down the bank onto the other side and scurried down a back way passage. He was spotted by a few guards at the border of the Logos region. HE exclaimed that the men after him had taken out his guard and that he needed to get away. Roman knew better than to disobey his father, the guard must have thought. Had the whimsey of the moonlit floor not swept him away, they would have been correct. But the foreign warmth swirling in the pit of his stomach urged him forward. Pushing. Pressing.

 He darted out of the sight of several guards who had now undoubtedly caught on to his little rouse at the border and were on the lookout. HE stashed himself in the small tunnels for water passage, that dried up after the boarding city to Eros became the capital of Logos instead of farmland, and waited. The guards rushed by, frantic. Crawling out of the small space he made for the thicket of coppices. The surveillance of the area was minimal, no one trusting something so close to the Youlteer forest. Roman didn’t care. It beat tiring meetings and broken bones and cold eyes. He feet pounded against old wounds and young joins pressing him in, over, under, and around through the woods until the trees’ canopy’s seems to blind the moon out of his view.

Roman was left panting and heaving and tired. For all he knew they would never find him. Maybe he could die out here or be the first to say they made it out alive from the black forest. Maybe his father would be proud of him if he could beat a real Youlten beast. Maybe he would look at him like he used to. Maybe he would be glad that he died in the forest, so he could keep the kingdom to himself.

A yawn wormed its way out of Roman’s body, barely above the age of 12 after sundown, and he curled himself onto the black moss and dosed off into nothingness.

 

 

It struck Roman as odd when he found himself in pitch black surroundings, wading. However wide Roman opened his eyes, there was nothing to see. He peered to one spot waiting for his peripherals to gauge a shape or motion. Nothing. No sky, no floor, no land. He was sure he was in water, because of how it sounded, waves lapping against his neck and crashing far away. There was also a distinct clinging that he felt around his arms and shoulders down to his toes. He raised a hand to what should have been eye level, and waved violently. Nothing yet again. A part of his mind urged him to sink to the water’s depth, to tell how deep it was. But another, far stronger decided that if the water swallowed him up, it would never spit him back out.

 

He was assured it was a dream, not knowing where he came from or how he got there. But, it felt so grounded. As if it had only now crossed his mind, Romans spoke out into the nothingness. The darkness shifted. If only slightly, if felt as though the blackness of the sky, parted from the ripping darkness below that he had understand to be a lake or pond. There was also a paler shape cresting the edge of what might have seemed like land if Roman had been closer. He called out again. Only this time something replied.

“Why are you here?” The voice was young, almost as young as Roman. But it sounded more aware, more sure.

“Who is there?” Roman called out, ignoring the somewhat irrelevant question in this situation “Where are you? Where am I?”

The water pressed around his body and pulled Roman forward, where ever forward was. The figure was larger now, closer and further detailed. The area that would have been a head on a man, cocked to a side and jutted forward. It almost looked annoyed.

“Where do you think you are, Prince?”

The voice felt intimate and close, rumbling right against his eardrums. It was a bit nasal, but low and incredulous. Roman was taken a bit aback. No one in their right mind would address the King’s son in such a way. No one that wanted to keep their head. Not that Roman liked the way his father resolved those situations, but he had gotten so used to its advantages that he felt almost entitled to it by those who spoke with him. He felt his pulse rising at the bravery of this man, the sheer lack of self-preservation. He shut his eyes- little change it did to his surroundings, in an attempt to keep his nerve. It was so cold above his shoulders and yet so warm in the water. He could feel his mind reeling at the sensation. Winter air and summer seas. The tales his father would tell him spoke of the Youlteer forest being a polar place, cold and hot, thin air and thick fog. And Black.  

“The Youlteer forest.” The answer came more calmly that he thought it would if it were true.

It dawned on Roman that he was so sure that he was asleep at the beginning of this encounter that he never questioned the conversation he was having or the place he was floating.

“Wow, so you can think without Daddy” a thrum of anger pulsed in Roman’s ears just as the man changed moods “It’s been a while since you’ve come here Princy. Something must be really eating at you. Guilt? Inadequacy? Is you father pushing the arranged marriages again? “

“My father is none of your concern creature!” Roman all but yelled. Ironically it was just as he had when he retold the stories of his father’s conquests to the other children, barely catching the choke in his voice.  “And you must have me mistaken if you believe I’ve ever been to your woods before now.”

“ Not when you were awake, no” The figure replied sounding softer. What looked like eyes, glimmered gently in purple rays that shone bright in the nothing like blackness of the world around him, so vivid.

“Awake…?”

The eyes turned to look at him fully flickering through colors: violet, purple, and blue, before shining brighter.

“Are you?”

Roman shot up from his bed, soaked with sweat. His hairs at his neck were standing at point, pulling like they were trying to get away, saying danger was everywhere and nowhere. His lungs pulled for air like they had never held it before. He coughed and writhed from where the sheets clung to him, hoarse.  

His father was sitting at his bed’s end grasping his hand tensely and peering into Roman’s eyes. Fear rose hot and searing under Roman’s skin, flooding into his throat and choking him. His _father_ was here. Which meant that he had found out what he had done. He was sure his heart hadn’t beat once since he woke. His mouth split to create an excuse, a reason, an idea for anything that could make his father’s wrath less than lethal. The hand holding his, gave him a squeeze and his father’s eye were thawed and wide and red. Small details about his father’s appearance crept in a little at a time, as though fighting against his minds assumptions of the man. The way his brows knit and the shaking in his hands. His father looked so young but so scared, an expression Roman hadn’t seen before on him..

“My King?” was all he could say before his was crushed by the mighty gait of his father’s chest, wrapped so tightly in arms that seemed to believe the boy could fade into dust in his arms and fly away.

“I’m..” his father started. He wasn’t sorry. There wasn’t anything he could do to be sorry about. If this man was surely Roman’s father, then there was nothing he could ever hope to do wrong. Whatever happens on the King’s behalf, happens and that is all “I’m glad you’re safe”

It was the last time his father held him in that manner. It was that last time his father held him at all.

 


	3. Arches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has a chance to be a prince for once. Not any shipping material just world building.

Roman stood in the large arched pathway of the Library, letting his thoughts fade into the alabaster rises and rounds. He hadn’t taken time for himself to sort through his thoughts and dreams as of late.  Instead he let himself wade distractedly in the haze while he wasn’t immediately needed. The footsteps of his knights clanked uniformly, enough to be a mild countdown for him to come to should they name him necessary. HE still gazed upward, now scanning for a fault or score or crrack to be the source of his interest if any of the knights should ask. In all honesty Roman wanted to touch them, the arches. He wanted very badly to sweep his fingers across the dusted crevices, not that he ever could. The thought reminded him how small he was, how close to the ground most people were and in turn, how far the sky and stars must be if he can’t even touch a threshold that was man made. It was humbling, but also very depressing every time he actually had tried, despite his previous knowledge of his place in the world. Always when no one was around to witness his failing, of course. Yet for now, he only stared.

The kingdom’s coble stone carried sound, like a melody, resonating to the ears of anyone with the fortune to stand where they made a corner or lined a wall. It covered the vast and level ground of all the King’s palace and made for a wonderful way of keeping on guard. Every step slapped and rounded about the place, that even the most stealthy a thief couldn’t hope to go without notice for long. It was a gentle assurance of the King’s precautions for those in his castle ground, and it was also how Roman was aware just which of his guardsmen were sent to accompany him this afternoon. The steps were spread apart and long, which could only mean it was a very tall guard with a very wide step. The kind with the greatest aspiration in life being to humiliate the Prince whenever he deemed it fit. Which, due to their longtime friendship, was only when there was not a soul around to witness it. It was a relief to be spared the prying eyes, but it also meant that there was never a witness to his friend’s schemes.

“What a sight for sore eyes”

A brow leapt quizzically from Roman’s eye, suspicious but flattered none the less. He pressed a hand into his waist awaiting the punchline but after realizing that there was none that followed without his engagement, he pressed to move it forward.

“I’m glad to see that at least your eyes haven’t suffered from you higher altitude.”  Yes, a height joke. IT was a small and inconsequential thing. Even when it was all that could be used against a person that has seen you at your worst since birth, it got the ball rolling on days like this. Or course there was a time when Roman and Sir Leo were the same height, it hadn’t lasted long, but it was enough to make it a competition once Leo shot up in size. The ensuing years were  a sharp dagger in the prince’s pride, only later did it fade to a forgettable sting. Leo was a wonderful powerful specimen ogled by men, women and others of the court, simply by the sound of his stride. His height did nothing to cancel that, and thus it did nothing as an insult. It probably better served as a way to gauge the Prince’ mood than anything else. How’s the weather up there was hardly the sign of a passionate morning.

“I meant the stone work your sights seems to be ever stuck to”

A small thing, the way the knight would lean against the white pillars, the cream color washed white beside his rich brown tone. There was no effort for him to brace himself, one hand against the very same pathway arch, arms bent but mind on Roman. It was the difference between them, the one who could hold the stars distracted by the one who wishes to. Was life always so cruel? Or did it have an affinity for the prince? Perhaps it enjoys the small churning in his stomach at the sight, or the knowledge that whether it irked him or not, mention of the feeling would never pass his lips or reach his friend’s ears. Roman would suffer in envy and silence. He thought and thought for a moment eyes far so glazed into his mind he couldn’t catch the change in his knight’s expression.

“Ro-“

“Too bad the toll it’s taken on your mind though. “ Roman interjected without a beat, shifting his stance to not seem put off in anyway, merely distracted. In return his friend, whose worry never left his eyes, chuckled and relaxed in posture himself. He nodded in the direction they were set to go and took a leveling step behind roman still almost two heads above him. His job as of late was to watch the prince’s back, a role which he at times, took far too literally. As they began walking, Roman thought he might ease the air. “Wouldn’t it be difficult to hear my very beck and call from back there, Sir Leo?”

“I can hear just fine from up here, my Lady” He retorted but noting the prince’s want for company. Normally the misnomer wouldn’t bother the prince at all if his father hadn’t taken it as an insult to toss Roman’s way anytime he did anything too ‘much as the girls at court behave’. It was a discussion of Leo and his that had been cut short the day before. _Good reminder, Leo._ He was grateful for a chance to talk it out with someone that knew him well, other than his manservant, Sacagawea. Leo glided to his side with one step and falling seamlessly into Roman’s with another. They spoke for what 45 minutes it took to reach the Herald’s Chamber.

A deep, broad structure burrowed some 50 feet into the ground, it’s domed shape after spared it from the building dew that stained the jagged ledges across the castle’s perimeter wall. Instead the rain would leave twining threads of erosion down from the Sand colored roof to its earth browned base. The entrance had a wide cement awning as a shield from the elements for those waiting to be granted access.  Roman and his knight stepped under the structure and drew the wind curtains closed. From behind the thick wooden door’s peeking slot, the weasel like voice of Couric Dalloway seeded out demands.

“State your name and business with the Great Pedagogue!”

“Pedagogue?” Leo echoed

“Joan is here?” Roman nearly hollered ecstatic, much to Couric’s dismay. With great bitterness evident in his voice, he addressed the company behind the door in Youlten before returning his focus to prince

“My, Prince Roman.” His voice shuttered “I didn’t recognize your form with the sand drapes-“

“Enough with the niceties, Dalloway! We’re here for the Herald Dominic but the Prince may enter any structure within the King’s lands with no deterrent. Leave us.” Leo cut the lie short having no time for the Tutor’s nonsense groveling.

The Dalloway’s had long since expressed their dissent from the Lord Sandre’s claim to the throne. It was no secret that the family and their lineage was from the Youlteer forest, a people that the King enslaved during the woods’ purge, something that would be the heart of several revolts, riots, and attempts of overthrow the crown in the days before the Logos Region was cemented. Even after they hid behind it’s boarders and lost their bravery they were still in favor of bringing the forest into the kingdom’s boarders no matter the cost to their reputation. Roman’s father always said their people to be the most depraved for bedding beasts and creatures of the wood. Dalloways too, were never known to be kind to any of the king’s heirs or blood kin. So tensions were always high between their house and the crown.

Within seconds Herald Dominic was at the door shooing the Dalloway man into the houses’ inner chamber. His eyes swiftly slid past Sir Leo trying not to be overt in their houses’ disputes. HE smiled at the sight of Roman immediately asking of the scroll that he lent him. Roman’s face roused with bolster, fully prepared to gush before Dominic stopped him “Not! In front of the knight’s man please. You are one thing to share the knowledge of the Logos with, you are meant to guide all our lands. But Leo here, he could get me tossed back to Pathos.”

They both chuckled and Leo was grateful for the consideration. Any talk of scrolls was doomed to bore him to tears and tyranny.

“You still House that Youlti” Leo started. Dominic smiled in a familiar way though still displeased in tone.

“All those in Logos hold no grudge or grievance. The Dalloways are welcome to join us to any of our domains so long as he pledges to the Crown when in the Castle dominance. “

“It never sounds less treasonous when you say it like th-“

“Your family is one to talk?-“

“Enough!” Roman said with barely a raised hand and the two acted as thought they had never had mouths.  “ Time out for thee and time out for thee, focus on solutions or focus on me”

Dominic rolled his shoulders clearly feeling guilt over housing the bloodline responsible for Roman being a sole heir. But his citizenship in Logos depended wholy on his ability to ignore that feeling. Roman, never seemed to mind much himself, he had no memory of his long-lost brother, Morgan. His father said they must have stored him somewhere during the Dalloway invasion if he wasn’t dead. And he had long since forgotten his mother's face. His father didn't help the matter much either, doing everything in his power to make Roman agree with the youlti about the King's right to the throne. A moment passed without anyone speaking and it was on Roman again to get the proverbial ball rolling.

“You called me down this morning about?”

Dominic’s expression snapped back on his face with a revere. The boy really was from the Pathos region no mater his control over his emotions, his expressions still said it all.

“It’s going to snow”

The news didn’t truly click in the Princes head as something significant. It snows in the Logos region often enough for it to be taken lightly. For a moment Roman’s thoughts lingered on the image he had when his father had been barricaded in Logos one winter, the first he had ever seen or felt snow. Dominic’s higher register was covered by Leo’s deep rumble.

“In Eros?” he snorted, arms crossed and clearly dreading the very idea. Roman looked between the two. Neither could be serious, could they? Snow _in Eros_? That was like Hell freezing over, literally. By the Glory T’Oh’ma. The thought staggered Roman’s mind so much that He needed to sit down, and a glass of water and potentially a blanket, though no one seemed to buy that one. So _that_ was why the great pedagogue was here. So many years without seeing the young scholar, and only now it was to Herald the apocalypse.

“Eros can’t survive in Winter.” Was all he said. The Herald and the knight exchanged looks clearly missing something.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may not finish this. I just have the idea in my head and I need to get it out. Thanks Feel free to harass me on tumblr @imsorryaboutallthejack if you want more ^ ^


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